


Endings, Beginnings, And Some Parts In Between

by Lolapola



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A cross between an AU and a tag to 15.20, An AU of Sorts, And regular family feels, Angst and Fluff, Canonical Character Death, Found Family Feels, Gen, Hopefully some closure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lolapola/pseuds/Lolapola
Summary: Dean's death from Dean's point of view, and what Sam does next.This is an AU of sorts to the finale; in some ways I stick with canon but after Dean's death I change things up a bit and make it a bit more found-family focused, with a smattering of scenes and details I would've liked to see.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Stevie (Supernatural: The Rupture), Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jody Mills & Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	Endings, Beginnings, And Some Parts In Between

**Author's Note:**

> So I'd like to start by saying that actually, I didn't hate the finale. I actually really loved many parts of it, although there were a few elements that I did feel were a massive misstep (I'm not a Destiel shipper but not including Cas on the bridge scene at the end felt quite genuinely bizarre to me). 
> 
> That being said, there were some things I would've liked to see in the finale that I didn't really expect to be there, but that's what fanfiction is for! This is basically an AU-ish interpretation of some of the info they gave us in the finale. The basic storyline is the same, but with different details.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

When Dean Winchester died, as he had done so many times before, it felt a lot like blinking.

One blink, and he was over on the other side of the barn, watching his brother fall apart over his body.

And yeah, he’d died before, but this did feel familiar. And if this was anything like that time, then…

He turned, with not a small amount of trepidation.

Standing behind him was a tall woman, with a long twist of silvery hair. Her hair and her lined and weathered face made Dean peg her at 70, at least, but she stood straight-backed and broad-shouldered like someone forty years her junior. Her face was stern, but there was something else there too. A kindness behind the eyes. Deep crows feet, like she smiled a lot.

And, of course, a long black coat, and a scythe taller than him.

“Who are you, the world’s most badass grandma?” Dean asked, before he could stop himself, and then winced internally. He truly had a gift for pissing off Death.

Death’s mouth twitched, like she was trying to hold back a smile.

“Dean Winchester,” she said. “You do not disappoint.”

Dean let out a slightly nervous laugh, trying for charming. “Glad to hear it, ma’am.”

Death’s gaze moved over his shoulder, and her face clouded over with a deep, genuine sadness.

“I am…truly sorry. But I must say,” she began, then looked him directly in the eye in a way that made Dean feel like she could see his entire soul. “It is my genuine honour to be here.”

Dean swallowed. “Th – thank you?”

This time she did smile. “I met Death a few times, you know,” she said conversationally, “The first Death. The last time I saw him, he talked about you. Not many humans were really on his radar like that. He liked you. And he was a very good judge of character.”

Dean figured it was best to be honest. “You know I killed him, right?”

Death inclined her head. “Billie, too. I’m aware.” She smiled again. “I had rather hoped we would get on a little better.”

Look at him, getting on with celestial beings, Dean thought. Sammy would be proud. “That would be…a nice change,” he said.

Death nodded her slow nod again. “When I took up the mantle, I had hoped I would be the one to reap you. I was, however -” and her eyes flicked over his shoulder again, “- saddened that it would be so soon.”

Dean thought that over for a second. “It’s in my book?” he asked.

“It’s in your book,” Death confirmed, and Dean smiled sadly. He wondered if Billie had known that all along, or if that had changed when the universe had.

“I had wondered,” Death added carefully, pinning him again with her inscrutable gaze, “whether I would encounter any resistance.”

Dean stared back at her, trying to read her face, but she was giving away nothing. He sighed.

“Nah,” he said after a moment, “I don’t think so. Not this time. Unless you’re gonna take me to The Empty? Then we might have a problem.”

Death frowned a little, looking away. “I understand what Billie was trying to do,” she said eventually, and Dean tensed. “By the time she took over, the rules of death were starting to change. Boundaries had to be reinstated. But -”

Death looked back at Dean, and he relaxed a little when he could see her eyes. There was no malice there. No hatred, or self-righteousness. Just acceptance.

“But I think that what we must all accept is that you and your brother saved us. _All_ of us. You have done many times. You both have my gratitude, and that of many other beings. If there were ever acceptable exceptions to the natural order of the universe… I think you were good candidates.”

Dean breathed out steadily, letting those words wash over him. “Were,” he repeated.

Death smiled sadly. “Were,” she agreed.

“Okay,” said Dean. “Okay.”

Death held out her hand. “It’s time to go,” she said gently.

A ragged cry came from behind them, making Dean flinch. “God,” he whispered, “I can’t… I don’t want to look.”

He looked up at Death, and she was looking over his shoulder again steadily.

“Is it bad?” he asked, his throat tight. If he looked, he’d stay here forever.

Death looked down at him again.

“I swear to you,” she said, “I will collect him myself, when it’s time. I’ll bring him to you.”

Dean knew from experience that when a being like Death made a promise like that, it suddenly felt less like a promise and more like an indisputable fact. The grass is green, the sky is blue, and Death will watch out for his little brother.

Dean nodded jerkily. “Thank you.”

Death inclined her head once more, and Dean took her hand and closed his eyes.

 _Just a blink, Sammy,_ he thought.

* * *

Sam doesn’t have to say anything when Jody opens her door. As a cop, as a mother, as a human being, she takes one look at him and knows.

“No,” she whispers, her voice cracking, “God, Sam, I -”

She cuts herself off. Sam isn’t looking at her. His jaw is clenched, his gaze directed firmly at the doorframe. This is how it always feels, she knows, talking to someone who’s experienced this level of loss. Words feel clumsy and useless. ‘I’m sorry’ gets bandied about so often it loses any meaning, but folks still say it, because what else do you say?

That was the problem, she thought. Anyone could say it, whether you mean it or not. Whether they’d lost a neighbour or their child. There should be a special phrase. For when you really mean it. For when what you really mean is, ‘I understand that the world is a darker place for you now, and I would walk over hot coals if it would ease your pain.’

“I’m so – I’m so sorry,” she says, and hopes it translates.

Sam nods once, business-like. He still hasn’t looked at her.

“When?” she asks, and Sam unclenches his jaw to say, “Month.”

 _A month?!_ she shrieks in her head, but manages to control herself. Sam doesn’t need judgement right now.

He must have read into her stunned silence, however, because he swallows and says, “Left – I left the bunker. Did some hunting. I couldn’t – couldn’t go back there without - ” And finally, he looks at her. “I didn’t know where to go.”

Jody steels herself. It’s time for her to be strong. “You did,” she says. “You came here. You came to family. C’mon.”

She stands aside and pulls him into the house, picking up the duffle by his feet. She decides to ignore, for now, the other, fairly confusing, thing on the doorstep.

They sit together on the couch for a long time in silence. Jody thinks that Sam doesn’t need to talk right now. That’s why he’s been rattling around in that car alone for weeks. Because telling people means talking about it, and some things are too big to put into words.

The girls are out of the house right now. Jody can make this a safe space for him, and she’s determined to try. What he needs now is to not be alone.

So they sit and hold their whiskeys and watch the crackling fire in the hearth, together.

After a long time, Sam speaks.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do without him,” he whispers, and it makes Jody want to cry, but she’s careful not to.

“I know,” she says. “You don’t have to know. You just gotta take it a minute at a time.”

Sam’s staring at her now, with huge eyes, like he’s hoping he’ll find something in her gaze that’ll make all of this okay.

“A minute?” he asks. “Thought the phrase was one _day_ at a time.”

Jody nods evenly. “It will be. But right now, it’s minutes, isn’t it? Minutes feel a little easier.”

Sam drops his eyes and clenches his jaw again. Jody takes a sip of her whiskey to give him a moment, and they sit in silence for a while longer. Then Jody clears her throat.

“Sam,” she says, “can I ask you something?”

Sam hums.

“Why the hell is there a dog on my couch?”

There’s a few seconds delay. Then Sam snorts in a kind of cry-laugh mix, and rubs the ears of the dog sitting contentedly between them.

“We, uh – we found him.” Sam’s face twists and crumples, and his voice is small and tight, like a child’s. “His name is Miracle.”

Sam buries his face in the dog’s fur, and when he starts to cry, Jody lets herself cry as well. They might as well do that together too, she thinks.

* * *

It’s about a year later when Jody crashes into the house after a standard day at work turned into a hunt.

“Sam?” she calls out, at the same time that she hears his voice call, “Jody?”

She knows he stayed those first few months because he didn’t know where else to go, but she doesn’t mind that. That’s what her house has been for for a long time. And he found a routine here. A new normal. He reads, he helps her with her work (she thinks in another life he would’ve made a damn good detective), he cooks for them every other night, he goes on the occasional hunt when someone needs help. He helps Alex with her studies and teaches Patience how to research lore and coordinate hunters.

He’s quiet and subdued, and Jody hopes that with time, he’ll come back to himself. She knows he may not.

“Jody?” Sam calls again as he comes into the hallway, Miracle at his heels. “I thought you’d be back hours ago, I was getting worried -”

He stops dead when he catches sight of the bundle in her arms.

“Got a call about anti-social behaviour on some abandoned land just out of town,” she says, a little breathlessly. “Went expecting to reprimand some kids for lighting fires and playing music – found a couple of werewolves hiding out in the barn.”

“What?!” Sam exclaimed, alarmed. She sees his gaze flick over her, looking for injuries, and then rest back on the bundle when he doesn’t see any. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I was going to, but one came out and saw me when I went back to the car to get silver bullets. Don’t worry, there were only two of them. I’m fine. But -”

She steps forward, holding the bundle out carefully so Sam can see the baby wrapped up in the blankets. Sam’s eyes are fixed on him, his face expressionless.

“I found him in the barn. Sam – they’ve bitten him.”

“ _What?_ ” hisses Sam, finally jerked out of his trance. He steps closer and she pulls the blanket away from the baby enough for him to see the partially healed bite mark that takes up half his arm.

“God damn it…” Sam swears softly, and looks up at Jody. “The cure?”

She shakes her head. “Look how far it’s healed. I think it’s been too long. Besides,” she adds, a little guiltily, “it has to be live blood of the sire, right? Assuming it was one of those assholes… I killed them both before I even realised he was there, Sam.”

Sam shakes his head, his attention back on the baby, his finger gently stroking the bite mark absentmindedly. “It’s not your fault,” he says easily. “God, why would they…?”

“I have no idea. Maybe some kind of screwed up kidnapping. Maybe they killed his parents. I don’t know.” She hesitates before continuing. “Sam, I can’t take him to the cops. He’s a werewolf. Even if we found his parents… how the hell would we explain that to them? And if they took him to the hospital?”

Sam sighs and shakes his head. “I know.”

“He needs a hunter.”

Sam looks at her. “You think…?”

Jody shrugs. “Why not? I mean, if it was just me, I wouldn’t have the time, and it wouldn’t be fair to make the girls look after him all the time, but I thought maybe…”

She holds the baby out, and this time, Sam takes him from her arms. She holds her breath.

 _Maybe… just maybe…._  
It isn’t until it happens that she realises how long it’s been since she saw Sam truly smile. The baby is waking up now, and he reaches up, trying to grab onto Sam’s beard with chubby hands.

“How old is he, do you think?” he asks, gazing into the baby’s eyes like he’s in love, and Jody smiles too.

“Not sure,” she says. “Maybe about 6 months?”

Sam looks skyward for a moment, swallowing hard. “Okay,” he says, exhaling shakily. “Okay.”

Very, very gently, Sam leans down and touches his forehead against the baby’s, and Jody blinks away the tears that spring into her eyes.

 _Maybe we should call him Miracle too,_ she thinks. _Behold, the Miracle Baby. Can bring a man back to life._

“Don’t suppose he had a name tag or something?” Sam asks, a little roughly.

“Nope,” Jody says, stepping forward to lean in and catch one of the flailing little fists.

Sam says nothing for a moment. Then, quietly, “He’s a boy.”

Jody glances up at Sam’s face for a moment and forces herself to nod neutrally. “He is.”

Sam swallows again and clenches his jaw. He minutely adjusts the blankets around the baby, and one of the flailing hands wraps itself around his little finger.

Sam exhales again, calmer this time. “Dean,” he breathes, and Jody beams through her tears.

“Dean,” she agrees.

“Alright,” says Sam after a minute. “I gotta go call Garth. Ask him how to blend up hearts into baby formula or something.”

Jody laughs, and, like a miracle, Sam laughs too.

* * *

The funeral of Sam Winchester was a quiet affair. Dean sat in the front row, with Donna in her wheelchair at his side, clutching his hand the entire time. On his other side, Patience, Alex, Claire, and Kaia. Behind them sat Garth and his family. Some of Dean’s friends. Neighbours from around Sioux Falls. And that was it.

Dean nodded at them as he left the church, hugged Garth and Bessie and the kids, but didn’t speak to any of them. Alex walked ahead pushing Donna’s wheelchair, and Claire, Patience and Kaia flanked Dean on either side protectively. He tried to smile at them every time one caught his eye, tried to convey his gratitude. It reminded him of 3 years ago, at Jody’s funeral, when he and Donna had tried to be the strong ones for all four of them. He remembered thinking, at the time, that he would never feel a greater pain than that day.

That seemed so naïve, now.

At the doors of the church, Claire squeezed Dean’s hand, making him jump and then stop walking. She gave him a gentle smile and turned to address the church.

“Thank you all for coming. If you’d like to, you’re welcome to come with us to Sam’s grave, where we’ll be placing his ashes.”

Like Jody’s, this was really more of a memorial service to keep up appearances, his dad having been given a real hunter’s funeral a few days before. They had wanted to give the non-hunters in their lives a chance to mourn with them. It had seemed the right thing to do when they decided it, but right now all Dean wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry.

The church doors opened and Dean followed Alex and Donna into the light.

And stopped dead.

Beside him, he felt Claire and the others stop too, and heard Claire let out a shaky laugh.

“I didn’t…,” she whispered, almost to herself, “I didn’t know if they’d come…”

Dean barely heard her.

In front of them, the small church garden, the cemetery, even the road leading up the church, was filled with people. They stood in groups and alone, leaning against cars, lining up amongst the headstones. They were all wearing rough, woodsy clothes – leather and flannel and jeans. Dean’s dad hadn’t worn stuff like that in a lot of years, but he’d seen enough photos.

“Claire…” he breathed, turning to look at her, eyes wide, “These…are these _hunters_?”

Claire turned to meet his gaze, beaming, her eyes full of tears.

“I put word out in the roadhouses,” she said, sounding stunned, “I thought maybe people would want to know… but I didn’t realise…. after all these years…”

Beside her, Kaia laughed suddenly. “Claire, you knew them. They weren’t the type of people you forget.”

Dean felt a pang in his chest at her words. It didn’t happen so often anymore, but Dean hadn’t been very old when he’d realised that people mostly referred to his dad in the plural. As if there were two of him.

His uncle had been such a prominent character in his bedtime stories, the subject of so many anecdotes by Jody and Donna and Garth and sometimes, on a good day, his dad, and was featured grinning and warm in so many photos all over the house that Dean felt like he knew him. But at times like this, Dean felt so keenly the loss of the man he’d been named after. The chance he’d been robbed of to meet the man who, his dad always said, would’ve _adored_ him.

“Would’ve spoilt you rotten, more like,” Jody would always add affectionately. Sam would laugh, but never disagree.

“Dean?”

Claire’s voice jolted him back to the present. She was looking at him, now looking a little worried.

“Did I – is this okay?” she asked. “I wasn’t sure if anyone would – I didn’t want to mention it in case nobody showed.”

Dean nodded, feeling himself genuinely smile for what felt like the first time in days.

“This is amazing, Claire. Thank you.”

Dean looked back at the crowds of silent, waiting hunters, and swallowed nervously. He knew of hunters, but apart from his immediate family, he’d not often interacted with them. He self-consciously adjusted the sleeve that covered his scar, a nervous habit that he'd mostly dropped over the years but in the last few weeks had come back with a vengeance. Not all hunters were as relaxed around a werewolf as the ones who raised him.

He walked past Donna and squeezed her shoulder as he passed by. She was murmuring something to Alex and beaming as she looked out at the hunters, tears streaming down her cheeks, and Dean smiled to himself.

With Claire close at his heels, he approached the hunters standing closest to them, two women about Donna’s age standing so close together that it looked as though they were holding each other up, although was unclear who was leaning on who.

Dean smiled at them, a little hesitantly.

“Um…hi. I’m uh – I’m Dean Winchester.” He saw both of their faces twist in confusion and remembered who he was talking to, amending quickly, “Not – not that Dean Winchester. I’m uh – I’m Sam’s son. My name’s Dean.”

For a second, neither of the women spoke. Then one of them barked a laugh.

“Of course it is,” she said, before smiling and holding out a hand. “My name’s Charlie, and this is my wife, Stevie.”

“You, um – you knew my father? And my uncle?”

“He saved my life. Both of our lives, in fact.”

Dean nodded, trying to process that. He knew, of course, in an abstract sense, that his father had saved people’s lives. Hell, most of his immediate family had all saved each other’s lives at some point. But it felt a little odd to meet a complete stranger who could make that claim.

“This, uh…this is a surprise,” he added, gesturing to the crowd behind her. “Did _all_ these people know him?”

Charlie glanced over her shoulder and gave a half shrug.

“Not a lot of them, no. People just wanted to come and pay their respects.”

Dean’s confusion must have shown in his face, because she leaned forward and eyed Dean shrewdly.

“Kid,” she said, “You are aware that your dad and his brother saved the world, right? Like, a couple of times?”

Claire snorted beside him.

“Um….” said Dean, feeling strangely embarrassed, “Jody may have mentioned it once or twice? Dad never – he never seemed to like talking about it.”

Charlie’s mouth twisted in a half smile. “Yeah, that figures,” she muttered.

Dean opened his mouth to ask more questions, because really, he’d not given this much thought for years – like when a kid is told his dad is an astronaut and at first he thinks it’s the coolest thing in the world, but as he gets older he thinks, hell, someone’s got to be – but he stopped when he heard gasps and mutters from behind them.

Claire nudged him and he turned to see the other guests leaving the church and stopping dead like they had, gaping at the scene in front of them. All the guests save for Garth, who was waving cheerfully at someone in the crowd.

“I’m sorry, I should go -” Dean said, turning back to Charlie and Stevie. “We’re about to go put down Dad’s ashes, though. If you’d like to come.”

Charlie nodded sombrely. “Thank you.”

Dean nodded back and returned walked back towards the church with Claire.

“Sorry, uh, sorry about that,” he said to the other guests, who were still staring, “As you can see, um…some of my dad’s old friends have turned up, and, uh, I guess they’ll be joining us.”

Claire snorted again and Dean whacked her arm.

“What the hell was I supposed to say?” he hissed, but she ignored him.

As they approached the gravestones, Dean felt the despair creep back in. He didn’t want to see his dad’s name on a gravestone. He didn’t feel ready.

It would be on the same stone as his uncle’s, next to Jody’s, he and the others had decided. His uncle’s marker had been put there at Jody’s insistence a couple of years after his dad had settled in Sioux Falls. He knew his dad had never liked it, seeing as Dean wasn’t there, but Jody had always said it was symbolic.

“One day, you and I will be gone too,” she would say, “And a man like Dean Winchester needs something in this world to commemorate him. Something permanent. It’s only right.”

Dean had liked it, too. He’d come here sometimes, as a teen, to talk or to complain about some argument or other with his dad that he felt sure his uncle would’ve sided with him on. It was comforting, if you could get past the morbidity of staring at a gravestone with your name on it.

Now, Patience handed him the urn as they continued their slow march towards it, and Dean clenched his jaw. He could do this. Only a few more hours, and then he could mourn in private.

A few feet away from the gravestone, Claire stopped suddenly, grabbing Dean’s arm. He looked at her, surprised.

“Dean, I -” she glanced at the gravestone, then at Dean, looking nervous again, “I wanted to surprise you – but – maybe I should have told you. I, uh – I made a couple of adjustments. I know you cleared the writing, but I – _we_ wanted to add something. You can change it, though. If you don’t like it.”

She glanced at Patience and Kaia, who nodded, also watching Dean nervously.

Dean forced himself to smile. Two surprises were a lot for a funeral.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said. “Let me look at it first.”

Claire nodded, still looking worried, but she released his arm, and Dean walked the last few steps to the grave.

At the top were Dean’s details, then his dad’s underneath, as he’d asked for. Then, underneath that:

THE WINCHESTERS ARE SURVIVED BY SAM’S SON, DEAN WINCHESTER, AND ALSO BY THE COUNTLESS LIVES THEY SAVED.

HEROES TILL THE END.

Dean beamed, the tears he’d been holding in all day now starting to escape.

“It’s perfect,” he whispered, hugging Claire and each of the others in turn. “Thank you.”

Gently, he leant down and placed the urn on the grave, bowing his head for a moment of silence. He traced his fingers first over his dad’s name, then his uncle’s.

Together in death. His dad had always seemed sure he would see his brother again, and Dean hoped against hope he was right. Back with the man who, by all accounts, was the other half of Sam Winchester’s soul.

“Never saw one without the other,” Donna would always laugh fondly, “And if you did, golly, you knew there was trouble.”

Dead hoped that was true again.

Now, he stood and turned to face his larger-than-expected audience. The hunters had bowed their heads too, and those who were wearing hats had them clasped to his chest.

Sam’s heart felt like it would burst with emotion. God, there were so _many_ of them. Men and women, some Charlie’s age, some his age, some even younger. At the back, he thought he even glimpsed a woman in what looked like a ballgown with striking red hair, but when he blinked she’d vanished.

All of these people here for his dad, the quiet man who was most at home with his books and his family. It was hard to imagine him as the fearless warrior that people sometimes described, but for these people, it was all they knew of him.

Charlie raised her head first, looking Dean in the eye.

“To the Winchesters,” she said, and the words moved like a ripple through the crowd.

“I hope that he found peace,” she added, a little quieter, and Dean nodded, his throat tight.

“I think he did,” he whispered, and Charlie smiled.

He felt several arms wrap round his shoulders, and smiled through his tears as his family clustered around him.

“I think,” muttered Alex, looking round at the crowds, “we’re gonna need a new venue for the wake asap.”

Dean laughed, and for a second, he felt those he had lost laugh with him.

* * *

“Dean.”

“Heya Sammy.”

The Winchesters clung to each other for what could’ve been seconds or hours. Finally, Dean pulled back and held the back of Sam’s head in his hand, grinning up at him like a lunatic.

“You’re here,” he said. “You’re here.”

Sam gripped Dean’s wrist, battling with the onslaught of emotion and wondering vaguely whether he was about to laugh or cry. At some point, he thought, Dean’s big brother routine would start to get old again, but right now, it was the only thing he wanted to see. It was the only thing he had wanted to see for thirty years.

“I missed you,” he forced out finally through a tight throat, and Dean smiled even harder.

“Yeah, but not too much, right?” he laughed easily. “Tell me you had _some_ fun without me.”

Sam’s heart twisted, but only for a second, because actually – yeah. He _had_ enjoyed his life. He’d done his brother proud.

“Dean,” he said, and already his smile felt more real, his shoulders felt lighter, “I have got _so much_ to tell you.”

Dean laughed, clapping his brother on the back. “Attaboy,” he said. “Come on, I want all the details –”

“Hello, Sam.”

Sam whirled round on the spot.

“ _Cas_?”

The angel was standing by the car, smiling wider and more genuinely than Sam ever remembered him doing.

“Cas -!”

Castiel just laughed as Sam ran to him, hugging him as hard as he had hugged Dean.

“This is – how did you -?” Sam turned to his brother accusingly. “You said he was gone!”

“He was,” said Dean. “Jack brought him back, that overpowered little bastard.”

Sam laughed wildly, like he hadn’t done since he was a young man, and hugged Castiel again.

“It is _very_ good to see you, Sam.” Cas said, and Sam squeezed his shoulder.

“You too, man.” Sam turned, feeling the sudden need to check Dean was still there. It would probably be a while till that faded. “So you guys have been here…what, since Dean died? I mean, this _is_ Heaven, right?”

“Sure is, Sammy. And get this – it’s _new_ Heaven. Jack-Heaven. And, dude, I gotta tell ya – it’s the freakin’ best.”

Sam grinned, his brother’s joy infecting him easily. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! Sam, Mom and Dad are here, Bobby, Charlie – Jo and Ellen, Sam, everyone! Hell, Jack even tracked down _Kevin’s_ ghost and got him up here!”

“Kevin, huh?” Sam managed to say, his throat closing up again as all the emotion in him threatened to overflow. Dean just nodded, saying nothing about the tears that were beginning to spill over onto Sam’s cheeks. He got it. Of course he did.

“ _Everyone_ , Sam. Jack and Cas really outdid themselves.”

Sam turned back to Castiel, surprised.

“Cas? You did this too?”

Cas shrugged modestly. “Jack wanted some pointers. I had some…opinions on how Heaven could be improved.”

Sam barked a laugh. “Yeah, I bet you did. How long you been waiting to give those out?”

Cas smiled darkly. “Oh, you know. A few millenia.”

“Sam, come on, come look.” Dean slung an arm round Sam and an arm round Cas, steering them over to the edge of the bridge. “Look at this place. It’s beautiful, man.”

Sam took a deep breath in as he leant on the railings and looked out on the valley. The sky was bluer than he could ever remember seeing it, the colours of the forest vibrant and alive. As he exhaled, he felt the years of pain and hurt and trauma leave him, and something new take its place. Something like peace. He felt Dean and Cas breathe out with him, and smiled.

“So this is paradise, huh?” he murmured.

He felt Dean huff a laugh beside him.

“Yeah, Sammy,” he said. “It is now.”

**Author's Note:**

> So those were basically the details I wanted - a new Death, Sam being with people that care about him, and a little about the Winchester's legacy because the best thing about such a long running show is that their legacy feels _real_. I would've liked to see other hunters mourning them and acknowledging the huge debt of gratitude owed to the boys. Also, semi-accidentally, if you really think about it, this story could actually be completely canon with the finale! But also not if you hated the finale so do what you will that.
> 
> I wrote a few of these sections of story completely separately, so the tenses change depending on the section - sorry if that's a little confusing! I never change tense mid-story though so hopefully you didn't really notice ;)   
> One last thing! I haven't edited this a lot, so if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes please let me know in the comments. 
> 
> Anyway sorry for rambling, and thank you for reading!


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